


A Time Before

by CykaSpace



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-09-18 17:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16999857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CykaSpace/pseuds/CykaSpace
Summary: Bart's life had eased up after Sideshow Bob's incarceration. He tries to lead a normal, regular life without the fear of being murdered. But when his family make a huge mistake in his eyes, will the two be able to live systematically or will all chaos break loose?





	1. Chapter 1

“If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?” Bob quoted gracefully as the blade of his knife glided across Bart’s jaw, the boy’s skin gleaming and glinting with sweat in the dull moonlight. Bart began kicking and biting but no sound emanated from his throat. Bob grinned.

“Oh, my dear Bartholomew,” Bob cooed, “you do not know for how long I have waited for this moment.” Growling, Bart became more vicious in his attacks but his trembling body proved his one true emotion; fear.

 

Bart let out a small yelp and looked erratically around his room, panting and heaving loudly. This was pathetic! Bart was no longer a ten-year-old boy who was scared of the tiniest things, he was sixteen, for crying out loud! He had better things to do than worry about an old childhood fear that probably will never affect him again. Bart cursed himself for watching that horror movie. What was it called again? Oh, yes, The Silence of the Lambs. Many a time Bart had seen the film but this seemed to be the only time it had ever affected him in such a way that left him sweating at half one on a Monday morning, searching around his room for a threat that wasn’t even there. Sighing inwardly, Bart laid shakily down onto his bed and made a small attempt at returning to his sleep.

 

“Bart, wake up, it’s nearly time for school!” Bart groaned at the simplest mention of that wretched place. He must admit, he did find some comfort in knowing that, if Sideshow Bob were to, somehow, escape his confinement of that putrid prison, then he probably wouldn’t attack him whilst he was at school. The security there wasn’t exactly the greatest there but it was better than being assaulted on the street, that, at least, Bart knew. Finally working up enough energy to wrench himself out of his warm, albeit sweaty, bed, Bart wandered over to his drawers and pulled out a grey t-shirt and baggy, blue jeans and hauled them over his body. Gone were the days of his moderately tight blue shorts and orange t-shirt; he’d grown out of those quite some time ago. Of course, he still used his skateboard to maneuver around town; Bart had a newfound appreciation for the somewhat scenic view of Springfield. Glancing in the mirror, Bart brushed a hand through his hair, picked up his skateboard from the door and walked out of his room. Bart entered the kitchen and snatched a slice of buttered toast off of Lisa’s plate, stealing a glance at Maggie’s bored expression as she poked her bacon with a fork. Lisa turned and glared at him but said nothing as she continued to eat her breakfast.

“Good morning, honey,” Marge said as Bart passed her. “Did you sleep well?” Bart considered telling Marge about his...nightmare but soon decided against it, realising that it would open a wormhole of snide comments and teasing from Homer and a smothering of reassurement from his mother. Instead, Bart settled for replying with a flippant ‘good, thanks’.

“Are you taking the bus today?” Lisa asked with a smirk. Marge turned from her position at the sink to face Bart. Bart shot Lisa a glare and looked up at Marge, her face screaming ‘what’s Lisa on about?’.

“Bart?” Marge asked. “What’s Lisa talking about?”

“I skate to school.” Bart shrugged. “It’s no big deal.” Homer looked to Bart and, through a large mouthful of bacon, eggs and pancakes, said,”Let the boy go, Marge. He’s old enough to go out on his own.” Bart nodded at his Dad in a small acknowledgement of thanks and awaited Marge’s reply. Reluctantly, Marge nodded.

“Well, okay. But just be careful,” she warned. As Bart left the house, he called, “I’ve been going out on my own for ages, I’ll be fine!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FBSRO

Bart rolled across the hot tarmac and towards his school, the new wheels of his skateboard gliding over loose stones and raised paving stones on the floor beneath him. As Bart rolled up to the brick building, he spotted a white van parked jaggedly upon part of the grass on the front field. Fear shot through Bart as a number of different possibilities raced through his mind; was it Bob? Who was in the van? Why was it parked so oddly? Why were they at _his_ school?

 

“Hey, Bart!” Bart turned and spotted Milhouse, waving to him from the entrance of the school building and changed the path of his board, skating over to his friend.

 

“Hey Milhouse,” Bart greeted as he kicked up his board and caught it in his left arm.

 

“Got any plans for tonight?” Milhouse asked and began walking inside the school. Bart thought for a moment.

 

“I need to do some stuff at home after school,” he lied. It’s not that he didn’t like Milhouse any longer, he just didn’t want to be stuck with him for the rest of his life. Milhouse nodded.

 

“Oh, alright. Are you busy over the weekend? Or tomorrow?” he persisted. Bart shrugged.

 

“I don’t know, probably,” he replied. Both boys walked further inside the school and to their lockers.

 

Milhouse turned the combination lock and opening the blue door to his locker. The inside was decorated with photos of The Springfield Isotopes and various video game cards and band stickers. Milhouse pulled out a few textbooks that he needed for his lessons and shoved them into his bag. Bart and Milhouse had both taken different classes due to their different interests in career choices for the future; Milhouse taking a range of things like Textiles, Food Technology, Dance and Art and Bart taking Woodwork, English, Performing Arts, German and Music. This only made Milhouse more clingy than he used to be and people were starting to suspect... _something_ was going on between the two. Milhouse didn’t seem to be fussed by all the negative attention but Bart was having none of it; his bad-boy reputation was quickly toppling down on top of him and Bart would do anything to stop it from becoming a full-blown demolition site.

 

“Well, I’m off to my first class; double textiles,” Milhouse said. “Have fun!” Bart made a small wave-like motion with his hand but swiftly drew it back to his side once Milhouse turned the corner. Walking to his first class, the mysterious white van sprung itself back into Bart’s mind; the same questions circling his brain. Well, Bart hadn’t seen Sideshow Bob yet so, hopefully, he didn’t have anything to do with it. Could it just be a dodgy meat delivery? Maybe even Pest Control had come to finally sort out their ant problem, but Bart doubted that as much as he doubted that Elvis was still alive. What _was_ that van doing? It was parked at an angle so maybe that was some sort of indicator. Maybe it was that Mister Moleman. But what would he be doing in a school? Perhaps it was Homer and he had drunkenly stolen a van from Moe or someone. Woah, steady on there, Sherlock, let’s not read too much into this, it’s probably nothing. Bart walked the rest of the way to his first class; Performing Arts. He’d try to avoid Milhouse altogether today, if he could but, right now, he had some acting to get on with.

 

The day went by smoothly until Milhouse spotted Bart, made eye-contact with him and sprinted over to him.

 

“Bart! I know you said you were busy but I just wanted to catch up with you,” he explained. Bart gave him an uneasy half-smile and dropped his skateboard to the floor, preparing to skate home.

 

“Uh, okay? I kind of need to get home, though.” Milhouse clenched his jaw and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

 

“You always say that and I’m pretty sure you’re not.” Milhouse pointed a finger at Bart’s chest, proceeding to piss off Bart further.

 

“Just stop! We’ve taken different subjects for our careers and that’s fine and I don’t mind hanging out with you but, for Christ’s sake, stop obsessing over me!” Bart snapped, attracting the attention of nearly everyone around them. Milhouse looked down at his shoes.

 

“I was only trying to keep the last friend I had,” he sniffed. Bart felt guilt give him a swift kick in the stomach by kept up his confident facade.

 

“I guess you just don’t care anymore.” Milhouse ran off in the opposite direction to Bart and didn’t look back once. Sighing, Bart hopped onto his skateboard and sent everyone who was gawking at him death-glares.

 

Bart headed to the Kwik-E-Mart and bought a can of Redbull and a packet of popcorn, almost in a trance as he thought about what he’d said to his best friend.

 

“Mom, I’m home!” he called, slamming the door behind him and dropping his board near the door. Lisa walked down the stairs, some sort of book in her hand, and greeted Bart.

 

“Mom and Dad are at Couples’ Therapy again,” she said. Bart nodded and walked past her, up the stairs and to his room. Nelson had given him some cigarettes and he debated smoking them but finally decided against it; he could probably hand them back to him as he hadn’t used any yet and Nelson was charging him five dollars for a pack of six, anyway. Picking up an old comic from his floor, Bart began to read in an attempt to rid his mind of Milhouse and his falling out.

 

“Bart? Are you alright?” Lisa asked as she opened the door to his room. Bart looked up at his younger sister and attempted a fake smile.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, Milhouse called earlier, and-”

 

“What did he say?” he interrupted, throwing down his Radioactive Man comic and bolting up.

 

“He didn’t really say but he said he wanted to meet with you in the treehouse. He said that he’d be there at around five-ish, if you wanted to get ready or anything.” Bart cocked an eyebrow. What did Milhouse mean by _get ready_? Would he have to wear something smart? No, of course not, he’d be meeting Milhouse in the treehouse, not in some sort of fancy restaurant. Still, Bart was confused by Milhouse’s choice of words.

 

“Did you see the van outside school today?” Lisa asked, successfully changing the subject.

 

“Yeah, I did. What was it doing there?”

 

“Well, apparently some new paints for the Art Department that arrived the other day were discovered to be poisonous after Ralph started chewing on a paintbrush covered with some of the company’s red paint,” Lisa giggled and walked over to Bart’s bed, sitting herself down upon the dark blue sheets. “So they were here to pick up the remainder of the paints that weren’t digested.” Bart chuckled.

 

“Lisa, where’s my hairbrush?” Maggie asked and walked into her brother’s room.

 

“Uh, I don’t know. Do you want me to help you find it?” she replied. Maggie nodded and walked into the living room downstairs. Lisa arose from the bed, shrugged at Bart and walked off to help Maggie. Bart sighed and walked over to his dresser. Well, if Milhouse wanted him to get ready then he would; starting with a fresh set of clothes and a shower.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FBSRO

Bart stepped into the shower, letting the hot water envelop him, and thought about just ditching Milhouse and his stupid cryptic messages altogether. After all, he’d probably just make Bart feel guilty about yelling at him earlier that day. Bart sighed and soaped up his hair with apple-scented shampoo. The shampoo was Lisa’s and so was the lemon-scented conditioner he was about to use but he couldn’t be bothered to buy his own and if Lisa _did_ notice that he used some of her products then she never mentioned it to him. Rinsing the remainder of the suds from his hair and body, Bart hopped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into his room. Wandering over to his bed, Bart picked up the white shirt and black skinny jeans he’d laid out earlier and wondered why Milhouse was putting himself through this. Bart had yelled at him and had practically been ignoring him for about two-and-a-half weeks, so why was Milhouse asking him to meet up? _The both of us must be masochists_ , Bart thought with a chuckle, pulling on his shirt and buttoning it up. Next were the jeans which Bart soon realised, once he’d pulled them on, were possibly a mistake as they left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Shrugging nonchalantly and trying not to think too much about it, Bart walked over to his dresser, dabbed a bit of aftershave on his wrists and neck and headed out of his room. Reaching the garden, Bart looked up to the treehouse; a small light flickered inside, illuminating the small place as Bart climbed the ladder (which had recently been replaced).

 

“Milhouse?” Bart called lowly as he reached the top of ladder and hauled himself inside.

 

“Oh, hey, Bart,” Milhouse replied with, what Bart thought to be, a sigh of relief. “I didn’t think you’d come.” Bart looked up at the blue-haired boy and attempted a reassuring smile. _He seemed to have made an effort with his clothing choice_ , he thought. Milhouse was wearing a plaid, pink and purple shirt, blue jeans and orange trainers.

 

“What’s all this about, Milhouse?” Bart asked, no, _demanded_. Milhouse gulped and rubbed the back of his neck.

 

“Uhh, well...I wanted to talk to you about what you did to me today,” he sighed. Bart finally found a position that was comfortable whilst still staying a few feet away from Milhouse incase he tried anything. “I didn’t realise that I deserved a public shaming..”

 

“Do you have any idea about what people have been saying about us?” Bart yelled, causing Milhouse to flinch. “I’ve lost the respect of everyone! Everyone, because you can’t seem to keep your hands off of me!” Milhouse lifted up his glasses and wiped his eyes. _Good_ , Bart thought, _now you understand._ “Why do you feel the need to follow me everywhere like some sort of lapdog?”

 

“Bart-”

 

“Like some pathetic leech!”

 

“Bart-”

 

“Like some-!” Milhouse pushed forwards and connected his lips with Bart’s. Bart’s mind began racing. Should he push him off? Or should he just lay back and enjoy it? Bart willed his hands to push the blue-haired boy off of him but he simply couldn’t, instead opting for the easy option of sitting back and enjoying it. Finally, Milhouse pulled away slightly and gazed at Bart with some sort of longing and Bart hated it.

 

“Get out,” he snarled and scrambled back.

 

“Bart, I-I’m sorry, it was an accident, I-”

 

“I said, _get out_!” Milhouse clambered out of the treehouse and jumped to the floor below, running off to Bart-couldn’t-care-less. Sighing, Bart leant back against the wooden wall and slid down it until he was a slumped mess. Why? Just why? And the worst thing was that Bart had partially enjoyed the kiss; he’d wanted to know what would have happened if it had gone any farther.

 

And that scared him.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FBSRO

Eventually, Bart left his treehouse and took off to his room to grab the packet of smokes he kept in there. Finding his lighter, Bart lit the end of one and sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and watching the smoke circle the space in front of him. Upon hearing the front door open, Bart promptly shut and locked his own door out of fear that his parents would smell the cigarette (not that either of them would have the energy left to yell at him after their counselling). Bart took another drag and sighed in bliss. It had been around three, maybe two, months since he last smoked and it felt refreshing to get back into the habit of it; maybe he even had some pot left over from when he and Nelson went to a small music festival in the outskirts of Shelbyville. There came a knock at his door and a twist of the knob.

"Who is it?" Bart called, preparing to throw the cigarette out of the window and spray the room with air-freshener. There came no reply and the rattling door-knob became persistent. Groaning, Bart arose from his bed and opened the door.

"Homer, if you're drunk, you could've-" Bart cut his words short upon seeing such a sight before him; his mother, father and sisters were standing next to a tall, hat and coat-clad figure.

"Hello, Bart," the familiar voice greeted, removing the hat and setting free his wild, red, Arecaceae-like hair.

"Sideshow Bob?" Bart asked and kept his voice level. Marge nodded.

"Yeah, but I think he's moved on," she replied. Bob nodded and smiled, somewhat warmly, at Bart, reaching out a hand for him to shake.

"The name is Robert Terwilliger now, Bart. But, as we are so very well acquainted, you may call me Bob." Reluctantly, Bart shook Bob's hand with the same force the older man did.

"Bob's going to be staying here for a while until he gets back on his feet," Marge explained. "We just picked him up from the Springfield State Prison." Bart clenched his jaw and faced Lisa.

"You said Mom and Dad were at couples' therapy," he growled. Lisa let out a small, nervous laugh and stepped behind Marge. 

"Where is he sleeping?" he asked after much deliberation.

"Bob is sleeping in your room." Bart's head snapped upwards to face Bob.

"Huh," he mumbled. "You really don't care, do you?" Marge frowned.

"Listen, boy, we aren't trying to kill you. If we were, we'd've done it ages ago," Homer's attempt at a reassuring statement didn't go unnoticed but was ignored.

"Bart, honey, you know we have to make sacrifices and this is one of them. Bob's promised that he won't harm you."  

"And you believe him?!" he yelled. Bob gently held up a hand to Homer, Lisa, Maggie and Marge, signifying that they should go. 

"Please, Mrs. Simpson, may I handle this?"

"O-okay. Dinner will be ready in about half-an-hour." The four all walked down the stairs and into their respective rooms.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed after the four were out of earshot. Bob placed a hand on his chest effeminately, feigning shock and hurt.

"It is a joy to see you, too, Bartholomew," he replied with a smirk. "I am here because I needed a place to bide for a while until I find my own home." Bob walked past Bart and into his room.

"Smoking, I see," he quipped. Bart was startled at Bob's perceptiveness; he'd kept the cigarette hidden skilfully in his left hand behind the door but Bob seemed to have noticed it (either that, or it was the faint smell that lingered in his room and on him). 

"What of it?" Bart asked defensively, crossing his arms to complete the look. Bob shrugged and gently placed his luggage - which consisted of a suitcase, two shoulder bags and and instrument case of some sort - next to the spare bed in Bart's room. The spare bed had been installed a few years ago and it was used primarily as a bed for Milhouse when he used to visit for sleepovers nearly every day but soon fell vacant after a while. 

"I take it you refurbished the room, then?" Bob asked, removing his jacket and placing it onto the bed where his hat also sat. Bart nodded.

"Yep. Left Krusty posters and horrifying pink wallpaper a few years ago." Bart's room had changed from the old shade of salmon to a dark purple and the Krusty the Clown posters had been replaced by various band and TV show posters. Some of the posters were a little embarrassing, especially for a person of Bart's personality, but, somehow, Bart felt at ease with Bob's presence within the room. The man that had attempted to murder him multiple terrifying times made Bart felt at ease? _I really am a masochist_. Bob nodded in the direction of one of the posters.

"Mozart, hm?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Macbeth, also."

"So?"

"Oh, and what's this?" Bob leaned forwards and pointed at a poster above Bart's bed. "Mean Girls fan, are we?" Bart's face reddened as he walked over to his door and closed it.

"So? Do you have a problem with that? I got that poster ages ago, I should probably throw it away!" he yelled. Bob moved away from the wall and over to Bart, who was nearly the same height as him.

"Now, Bart, I didn't mean it like that," Bob replied. As an after-thought, he added, "Cecil was a Mean Girls fan himself, a while ago, though I soon pointed out that he should stop as a man of his age should probably be doing something a little more proactive than binge-watching that dreadful show." Bart fought back a smirk and, instead, walked over to his window and flicked the dead cigarette outside.

"Lisa told me that you met Milhouse about an hour ago; did it go well?" he asked. Bart frowned and turned to face him.

"Since when are you both chums, hm? This is news to my ears." Bob thought for a while.

"Well, we mainly bonded today over our mutual love of classical music and jazz. She is very good, you know," he answered and ambled over to his bags to begin unpacking. Bart flinched at their closeness and opted for collapsing onto his bed.

"So, I ask again; how did it go?" 

"He kissed me," Bart blurted out and soon clasped a hand over his mouth. Bob looked up from his bag and arched an eyebrow at the blond boy. Bart picked up a pillow and pulled it over his face. "Just forget I said anything. If Mom and Dad found out then they'd kill me. So would Lisa, to be honest." Bob walked over to Bart and carefully pried the pillow away from his face.

"How did that happen, then?" he smirked. Bart sent him a glare and quickly moved away from him.

"He's gay for me. He should get a girlfriend, then he'd finally be normal," Bart spat bitterly. Bob frowned at him.

"Bart, there is nothing wrong with being attracted to the opposite gender," he replied firmly. Bart gave him a questioning look and Bob smirked at him again. "Not that I am gay." Bart turned away and began walking to a small storage cabinet. "Though, that doesn't mean that I am straight, mind you." Bart stiffened at Bob's words and spun around to face the man who was chuckling quietly to himself. Bob resumed his unpacking.

"I knew it," Bart muttered. Bob made a questioning-but-knowing 'hm?' but didn't look at the younger boy.

"I knew you weren't completely straight! You set off my gaydar when we first met!" Bob chuckled.

"Dinner's ready!" Marge called from downstairs. Bob arose from his crouching position and walked over to the door.

"Come on, Bart. Your mother is calling."

 

The six people all managed to fit around the table; Homer at one end, Marge at the other, Lisa and Maggie to the right and Bart and Bob to the left.

 

"Bart, Lisa tells me that Milhouse visited for a while. How was he?" Marge asked after a while. Bart choked a little on his Kwik-E-Mart cola but managed to swallow it.

"Uh, not so good. We've fallen out," he replied. Bob sent Bart a quick but meaningful glance but returned to his food.

"I'm sorry, honey. I can talk to his Mom-"

"Mom, it's okay, we weren't getting along anyway," he cut in. Marge nodded sympathetically but said no more on the subject.

"Well, I had a great day!" Homer announced. "I found a squirrel that didn't bite me!" Bart looked over at Lisa and rolled his eyes.

"Well done, Dad!" Maggie grinned. Homer smiled and pointed at her with his fork.

"See, Marge, I do deserve a well-done!" Homer yelled. Bob glanced at Bart again. _Geez, what's up with this guy?_ Bart thought. After dinner was finished (Bob, of course, had offered to wash the plates), Marge told Bob that he should make himself at home and should feel free to take a shower or bath. Everyone seemed to forget that this was the man that had _tried to kill their family._

"Can you help Bob unpack, please?" Marge asked as Bart was heading back up to his room. Bart groaned in annoyance but nodded. 

"He's having a shower so don't disturb him." Bart walked into his room and began rummaging through Bob's luggage. All items of clothing were placed neatly by Bob's bed and his toiletries were placed onto Bart's dresser, ready to go into the bathroom. Bob opened the door to Bart's room (clad in only a towel) and walked over to his clothes.

"Thank you for unpacking, Bart. Your mother's request, I presume?" he asked. 

"Naturally," Bart replied. Walking over to his storage cabinet, Bart dug out a small sketchbook and a pencil and walked back over to his bed. 

"Bart, is it too much too ask for you to look away for my sake, at least?" Bob asked and nodded towards his clothes. 

"What? Oh, yeah, sure," Bart nodded and invested himself into his art.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you had to wait for this chapter for so long. I've been bombarded with work but I hope this makes up for the month's worth wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FBSRO

Bart was tired, there was no denying that, but his mind wouldn’t shut off. It was like all the thoughts in his head were swirling around and trying purposely to make him dizzy. Bart pressed his palms into his eyes and let out a small groan of annoyance and frustration.

“Can you not sleep?” Bob’s voice broke the thick silence and Bart jumped.

“Why would you care?” Bart retaliated and crossed his arms over his quilt. A low chuckle sounded from the older man that Bart couldn’t help but seize up after hearing because he’d heard that sound in more murderous circumstances when he was younger.

“I was asking, not caring,” came the reply. Bob closed his book and placed it, along with the book light, next to his bed. Sitting up, he turned to face a defiant Bart - who was still refusing to look at the red, palmae-haired man - with an unreadable expression plastered over his face. Sighing, Bart gave in and hoisted himself up onto one elbow to look at the man who had tried to kill him so many times.

“No, I can’t and it’s your fault.” Ruffling from the other side of the room sounded and Bart flinched as the dull thud of footsteps came to stop next to his bed. Bob cleared his throat and Bart suddenly realised how close he actually was to the man.

“Well, now, it’s not actually my fault that you can’t sleep, it’s yours.” Bart sat up straight and glared at the man - as best he could in the dim light of the silver moon peeking through the curtains - with such contempt that it shocked him that Bob didn’t move away. 

“How is it my fault, Bob? Do you know how much you’ve scarred me? I’ve had to sneak out and away from my parents to go to private psychotherapy sessions for six-and-a-bit years! My parents have been struggling with their marriage, Lisa has been struggling with her own problems that she doesn’t even trust me enough to tell and Milhouse has just snogged the shit out of me and, do you know the worst part? I actually enjoyed it!” Bart was panting at the end of his rant and looked up expectantly at the older man. Bob was dumbstruck. He obviously knew that murder attempts had effected the boy as a child but Bart’s attitude as Bob was lunging at him with a knife when he was a child made him think that Bart’s sarcasm and cold exterior was his real self not this panicking young man in front of him. Bob was lost for words. Bart sniffled and it was at that point that Bob realised Bart was crying.

“So tell me,  _ Bob _ ,” Bart spat, his voice laced with venom and spite, “how any of this is my fault.” A knock resonated from Bart’s bedroom door and both parties’ eyes shot towards it.

“Bart, Bob, are you boys okay?” Marge asked from the other side of the door. Since what Bart calls ‘The Girl Incident’, Marge has always knocked before entering even if she didn’t expect anything.

“Yes!” they both called back.

“Hmm, alright. Just keep it down, please!” Marge’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway and Bart returned his gaze back to Bob. 

“Bart,” he began gently, “I had no idea that our escapades years ago would lead to-”

“How could you not know?! You tried to kill me countless times and you thought that I would be  _ fine _ ?” Bob kept silent but maintained eye-contact. He had never really thought about the long-term effects that it would have on a young, impressionable mind later on in his life. Bob thought for a moment that Bart may be joking; after all, the boy did have a slightly sick sense of humor but that display of utter desperation and sadness he showed but a few moments ago was too honest and raw to be a joke.

“Well? Do you have anything to say?” Bart’s voice cracked.

“You ruined my career and my wish to help younger people to see the world as a haven of knowledge and not just this filthy town with its polluted rivers and ravenous crime-rate. You took that away from me and now there are children here in our humble Springfield who are being chastised because of their intellect and they do not know that they are so important in this world. I wanted to educate and shape young minds that could go on to be great things but you took that away from me,” Bob explained with elegance and grace. It was as if he had practised the speech before. Bart blinked once, then twice in shock at what he had heard. He’d never once considered  _ why  _ Bob did what he did. Granted, it was an awful thing to do, frame someone, but Bart had a better understanding of why Bob had done it. Bart did have a somewhat biased opinion on Krusty when he was younger but, now that it had removed itself from him, Bart could see things from Bob’s point of view.  _ That still doesn’t excuse the fact that you  _ **_cried yourself to sleep whenever that_ ** **utter madman** **_had come after you_ ** a small voice in Bart’s head yelled.

“It still doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been hunted by a madman with a knife,” he muttered. Bob sighed and nodded.

“Yes, I know, but I hope that you can excuse me from what I did.” Bart considered this for a moment before solemnly shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

“Apart from the obvious reasons, why?” Bob asked, genuine sincerity in his voice.

“I nearly walked in front of a truck when I thought you were following me once,” Bart began lowly, “because I thought that you wouldn’t want to die. I thought that, if I walked out into the road without looking, then you wouldn't follow me. Obviously, you  _ weren’t  _ following me in the first place, you weren’t even in Springfield at the time, but I nearly killed myself to get away from you. I have so much ahead of me and I would’ve, no,  _ did _ , almost intentionally murder myself.” Bob coughed to clear the silence that followed. Bart sighed and laid back into his bed, pulling the cover up to his chin. Bob sat on the side of Bart’s bed and sighed.

“Can you still not sleep?” he asked. Bart huffed.

“No.”

“Would you like me to sing to you?” Bob offered and turned his head slightly to get a better view of Bart.

“Uh, okay?” Bob cleared his throat and began to sing some sort of French song. Although Bart couldn’t understand it, he still found it comforting in a way.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FBSRO

Bart awoke and, for a moment, forgot what had happened last night; he’d forgotten that he’d poured his heart out to someone who had tried to kill him. Turning onto his side to face the door, Bart spotted Bob closing the mysterious instrument case.

“What’s in there?” Bart asked as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms and legs. Bob didn’t seem to react to Bart’s awakening; it was as if he knew when Bart was to awaken.

“A violin. I’m teaching myself to play at the moment. I haven’t wanted to take lessons, but…” Bob sighed and his head drooped slightly, his burgundy hair, not yet washed, sagging over his eyes. “I suppose I  _ should  _ take some lessons. Unfortunately, I lack any basic skills in this area.” Bart yawned and nodded, swinging his feet over the bed and onto the light seafoam-ish, arctic-ish carpet that he’d had since the family moved into the house. Both parties were acting as if nothing had happened between them last night.

“Play to me.” Bart frowned as the words left his lips. He hadn’t meant to say that; he wasn’t supposed to take an interest in Bob, that was just wrong. Bob shared the same confused expression as Bart did, his brows raised and his jaw slightly open.

“Do you really want to hear me?” he asked. Bart shook his head, ‘no’.

‘I, uh,  _ ahem _ ...you don’t seem comfortable playing in front of people yet, so…” Bart replied, averting his eyes. Bob cleared his throat and nodded.

“It’s the start of the Christmas Holidays today, is it not?” Bob asked, swiftly changing the subject. Bart, grateful for the change, nodded.

“Yeah. School’s pretty shit with their timings and stuff, so they made us go in on a Monday and let us off on Tuesday. I think everyone kind of forgot Monday was our last day...wouldn’t be the first time people’ve gone in,” Bart explained as he walked over to his dresser and pulled out his clothes.  Still feeling Bob’s presence within the room, Bart turned around to face him.

“Are you planning on having a shower?” he asked.

“Well, yes, but it is your house so you may go before me,” Bob replied, gesturing with his hand to Bart’s bedroom door. Bart didn’t regard Bob and instead walked off to the bathroom.

 

Bart stepped under the shower and drenched his hair in the warm water. As he reached for Lisa’s shampoo, he realised that there had been a note written and taped over to prevent it from getting wet.

Bart, 

I know you’ve been using my hair products. Please, for the love of God, buy you own. Maybe even get a more masculine fragrance instead of  ‘Sunset Lemon’ and ‘Emerald Apple’.

Lisa

Chuckling to himself, Bart placed the shampoo back and peaked behind the shower curtain to open the cabinet near the shower. As he did so, a silver bottle of shampoo caught his eye.  _ It must be Bob’s  _ Bart thought. Once he found a new bottle of shampoo and lathered it into his hair, Bart examined the bottle. It was an odd shape, sort of like a pear, and had a red label that simply read ‘The Silver One’, a brand that they didn’t have in the Kwik-E-Mart. Bart popped the red lid and took a sniff of it. The shampoo smelt of roses and raspberries; a fitting scent from red ingredients for burgundy hair. Placing the shampoo back, Bart rinsed his hair and carried on with his shower.

 

Bob waited patiently in Bart’s room for him to finish his shower, the events of last night hanging over him like a dark rain-cloud. He was finally able to understand things from Bart’s point of view but, if he was being completely honest with himself, he preferred it when he didn’t understand. Now, as he sat in the boy’s  _ No,  _ man’s _ room _ , Bob reminded himself, he felt that he should do something, anything, to reconnect with Bart. The noise of the shower stopped and Bob arose from his place on the bed with his green towel in hand and waited for Bart to come out of the bathroom. Bart’s bedroom door opened and in came the man himself, drenched in hot water. Steam rose off of him like steam from a train, making Bart look ghostly as he left a blackberry-scented trail behind him.

“Is the shower free now?” Bob asked. Bart’s hair-plastered face turned up to him and he nodded, causing little droplets of water to fly around his bed.

“Yeah. Lisa’s using it after you, so you might want to be quick.” Bob nodded and exited the room, closing the door gently behind him with a soft click.

 

“Homer, will you  _ please _ pass the salt, for the last time!” Bart yelled to his Dad, waving his arms around animatedly in order to emphasise his point. Lisa rolled her eyes and took another mouthful of  _ Special K  _ Sherri (or was it Terri?) had given her from her trip to Shelbyville. Luxuries such as  _ Special K _ , branded cola,  _ Maryland Cookies _ , etc. were an unheard of treat in Springfield. Lisa was so thankful that she no longer had to have some nonsense “vegetarian” cereal that probably contained more pork than Homer. Sherri and Terri had opened the cereal box and it but said that it wasn’t sweet enough and it was too boring for them, so they gave it to Lisa as a sort of backhanded gift. Homer shook his head defiantly and teasingly gave the salt pot a wag between his index finger and thumb. Bob cleared his throat and requested the salt from Homer.

“Sure. Here you go Sideshow Bob!” Homer called as he threw the salt over to Bob. Bob caught it with his right hand and handed it to Bart whilst still chatting idly to Marge. Bart raised his eyebrows but ignored Bob and shook the salt over his sausages and scrambled eggs. Homer huffed and turned away from Bob slightly to talk to Maggie about her school work. 

“Marge, would you like me to do the grueling shop today?” Bob offered once Marge had finished explaining how her arms always hurt after carrying four to six bags every week.

“Oh Robert, would you?” Marge asked, clasping her hands together in gratitude. Bob smiled and mimicked the subconscious action.

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied. “Say Bart, would you like to come as well?” Bob questioned and turned elaborately to face the young man. Bart’s eyes widened and he vigorously shook his head.

“No, I’m fine thanks,” he replied quickly, spooning some scrambled eggs into his mouth. 

“Oh Bart, please go with Robert to the Grocery Store. You know a lot more about our regular food shops than he does.” Marge realised that she was losing Bart so she added, “I’ll even give you a little extra money to buy yourself a nice little something.” Bart reluctantly gave in and, with a sigh, nodded at his mother.

“Fine. But if he kills me, don’t bother coming to my funeral,” Bart answered and shot Bob a glare out of the corner of his eye. Marge didn’t say anything to counter it.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FBSRO

Bob and Bart took Marge’s Station Wagon to the Kwik-E-Mart as Homer’s car was, yet again, crashed somewhere after another one of Homer’s escapades. Bob drove carefully and within the speed limit, something that neither Homer or Marge, for that matter, ever seemed to do. Bart leaned over to switch on the radio. Bob glanced at him and sighed.

‘Please, Bart, do not put on some nonsensical rap music,’ he begged. Bart rolled his eyes and found a radio station which played something that he liked and also something that wouldn’t get him killed by Bob. Bart’s choice seemed to serve him well as Bob tapped to the beat on the steering wheel. They neared a red light and, ever so slowly, Bob reached it; Bart had never felt so at ease in a car before.

‘Where did you learn to drive?’ Bart asked, making sure his admiration for the older man’s driving skills was well hidden. 

‘I didn’t,’ Bob answered simply, flicking on the indicator and turning left down a side road. Bart stared at the side of Bob’s head in shock. Chuckling, Bob pulled into the car park of the Kwik-E-Mart, parked up and reached into his back pocket for the shopping list Marge had given him.

‘Don’t worry yourself, Bart, I am very skilled in the field of driving.’

‘But how do you know  _ how  _ to actually drive?’ Bart asked exasperatedly.

‘My roommate, Antoine, taught me when I was at University. He was very skilled,’ Bob reminisced. Bart detected a hint of something that he couldn’t understand in Bob’s voice; something about Antoine seemed to strike a chord with the older man. Disregarding the previous thought, Bart undid his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, Bob not far behind. Checking the list once again, Bob walked into the store with Bart by his side. Apu stood behind the counter, checking the amount of money Snake had given him was correct. Bob froze as his eyes landed on his old cellmate and Bart walked into him. Snake turned around and spotted the two.

‘Yo, Bart Dude,’ he grinned as he approached the them. Bart high-fived Snake.

‘Hey man, how are you?’ Bart asked.

‘Good, good. Hey Bob. You two friends now?’ Snake asked, gesturing between the two young men. Bob shook his head. 

‘Just being civil,’ he answered. ‘We have to get one with some shopping now.’ Snake nodded.

‘Well dude, if you’re ever nearby, give me a call. We should hang out again.’ With that, Snake waved at the two men and walked out the door. Bart began to walk ahead of Bob but was pulled into another isle by the older man.

‘What the Hell, dude!’ Bart yelled. Bob gripped him by the shoulders and made firm eye-contact with him.

‘How do you know that man?’ he demanded. Bart looked away in anger and tried to wriggle out of Bob’s grip. Unfortunately for him, Bob had done some extreme exercise during his prison time in order to be able to defend himself there.

‘Bartholomew, look at me!’ Bob growled. The tone of his voice made Bart shiver with fear; all he could do was comply. ‘How do you know that man?’ 

‘He sells Nelson a bit of weed every now and again and I sometimes tag along,’ Bart muttered. ‘What’s it to you, anyway? Why should you care?’ Bob sighed and let go of Bart who instinctively stepped away and rubbed his shoulders.

‘We shared a cell together during my incarceration. We were not too friendly and I do not want you to be associated with him.’ Bart rolled his eyes and snatched the shopping list out of Bob’s pocket.

‘Fuck off, Bob, you can’t tell me what to do,’ he snarled and went about finding the items for his mother. Bob’s eyes widened in shock and horror at the younger man’s language and he strode after him.

‘Now, Bart, there is no need to talk to me like that,’ he said sternly, regaining his composure. Bart shook his head and shrugged.

‘Whatever,’ he muttered.


End file.
